


At The Rainbow's End

by I_write_instead_of_sleeping (orphan_account)



Series: Dumpster Fire of Queen angst [4]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Deaky blocks out his emotions, Deaky is in denial, Deaky needs a hug, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Issues, Five Stages of Grief, Grief/Mourning, Grieving, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, M/M, Men Crying, Minor Character Death, Not really because Deaky's family is fucked up, Smoking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unresolved Emotional Tension, disco deaky, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2019-11-25 22:34:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18172331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/I_write_instead_of_sleeping
Summary: Deaky has a very simple answer for everything. Worried you’ll get too attached to someone? Shut them out. Don’t want to get too into a topic? Shut it out of your head. Scared of your emotions taking control? Shut those out too. Pesky emotions, always messing up a clear head. Terrified about losing people that you care about? Who needs them? He doesn’t need to be close with anyone, anyway. So shut them out. Shut everyone out.John doesn’t like to be heard, he doesn’t like his opinions to be voiced, and of course, he doesn’t want the pain of losing someone. So why not just shut it all out of your head, keep it in a box? It’s Deaky logic! And so far, his ‘Deaky logic’ had worked.*******************************************AKA: John is going through a LOT of shit, and he doesn't exactly have the healthiest coping mechanism.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, darlings! Aviophobia part 3 isn't quite finished yet, so I'm posting this first! Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> None of what happens in this story is true, don't actually believe it, please! It's all fiction!!!! Sorry about bashing your family Deaky, I'm sure they're all very nice!
> 
> ***WARNING: MINOR CHARACTER DEATH (his mother, not anyone very major), AND MENTIONS OF FAMILY ISSUES. IF THESE TOPICS MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, THIS IS NOT THE FIC FOR YOU!! ***
> 
> Title from "All dead, all dead" by Queen.

John’s mother was dead. He didn’t know where his father was. His sister wanted money. The same sister who hasn’t talked to him in over 6 years. The band wanted a new album. And he was Disco Deaky. He could put everything in a box, and deal with it when he had to. He was responsible. He was stoic. He was fine. 

He doesn’t miss his mom. She never did anything for him, never paid attention to him. But that’s okay, because he doesn’t feel. He doesn’t feel an empty hole of absence that his father that his father punched in him when he left and didn’t come back. He doesn’t feel any hurt or resentment towards his sister for ignoring him for years.

And he could make a few new songs no problem. Because he was fine. He was John “no worries in the world” Deacon. Nothing fazed him.

You don’t ever reach your breaking point if you don’t have one. You don’t hurt if it’s all locked away. And you don’t have to feel if you never open the boxes. Deaky logic.

Which is why he could go into the studio like any other day, like everyday, and pretend-- _ act _ like his mother wasn’t dead, his family wasn’t broken, and he was fine.

Because Deaky logic doesn’t fail. Except when it does.

***********************

It was 11:30 am, and John Deacon was  _ not _ about to cry in the bathroom. And no. This is not sarcasm. 

You see, many people, hell,  _ most _ people would burst into tears, sobbing, wailing, wishing they could turn back time if their sister sent a half-hearted email, the only contact they’ve had with each other for years, and all it says is:

_ John. Mom is dead. The hospital told me. I’m trying to find Dad again, Aunt Sue isn’t answering me. I need $2000. There will be no funeral. Don’t call me. _

_ I’m sorry, John. _

_ -Julie _

But not John. John didn’t cry. He stared at himself in the mirror of the studio bathroom, and pushed his Deaky logic on himself. So instead, his fixed his hair, and thought about what time he should E-transfer his sister the money. 

And he walked out of the bathroom.

“Perfect, Deaky! We were just waiting for you to get back from the bathroom to make a few adjustments to some songs!” Freddie singsonged.

John nodded. Just another day at the studio. His family was broken, his mind was in shambles, and _ \---no, John. Box. Put it in the box. Close your eyes, imagine the box, and put it all in there. _

Hah. Next to his emotions, repressed family issues, and missing father.  _ Off track, Deaky, off track. Box it up. Put it away. _

“Listening, Deaks?” John didn’t even realize he was in the recording room. His body tended to go on autopilot when it needed to .

“Yep.”

They played through a ton of songs, which wasn’t hard considering all he had to do was keep a solid bassline for most of them. 

“So what time should we meet tomorrow?” Freddie asked, stretching out his fingers.

“10:30?” Brian offered. Roger nodded in agreement. 

“Works for me. What do you think, Deaks?”

John shrugged. He would meet up anytime. Not like he had anything to do. Like give his sister money, or try to find the rest of his broken family.  _ No. Box. Shut it out. Stop it. _

Roger rolled his eyes. “Of course  _ you _ don’t give a shit.” John wasn’t hurt. He really  _ didn’t  _ give a shit about one thing or another

“Dears, stop arguing for about 3 seconds, will you?” Freddie scoffed, “Brian has a new songgg!”

He clapped his hands together and everyone eagerly awaited the song. Brian barely ever sang lead, but he asked if he could sing this one himself, handing everyone sheet music and telling them to adjust things when needed.

“Awww, it barely has any drum parts in it! This is bullshit!” Roger whined, earning a giggle from Freddie.

“Oh, you’re just laughing because  _ you _ have most of the song as piano, you bastard! Bri, you’re only feeding the fucking flames!”

Now both Freddie and Brian were laughing, and John chuckled along with them. He was fine. He could laugh. He could smile. He was fine.

“Okay, let’s play!!” Freddie shrieked excitedly. They picked up their instruments and started playing. Brian’s soft voice blended with the instruments:

_ “She came without a farthing _

_ A babe without a name _

_ So much ado 'bout nothing _

_ Is what she'd try to say _

_ So much ado my lover _

_ So many games we played _

_ Through every fleeted summer _

_ Through every precious day” _

 

John frowned.  _ Reminds me of someone. _ He felt like kicking himself. Of course he was thinking about his mother. He thought he shut her out, like everything else.  _ Everything else.  _

“Deaky? Deaky. Deeeeeeeakyyyy…”

John looked up and didn’t expect to see Roger staring at him, faces only a foot apart with his knees bent and his hands in his pockets.

“You alright? Looks like you’re gonna cry. Or punch something.”

But that doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t feel like crying. So why was he…? Or maybe he did feel like crying. Did one of his boxes open up? Did he accidentally open a door?

“I’m alright.” Roger rolled his eyes, “Of course you are. In case you were spaced out for too long, we had to stop because Brian’s song was too depressing and Freddie got all emotional and dramatic...again..”

John looked over Roger’s shoulder where Freddie was blubbering with his face in his hands. Brian looked amused.

“What  _ compelled _ you to write such a sad song, Bri? Good  _ god _ this is the most depressing thing I’ve ever sang!” Freddie wailed. Brian tried his best to answer, but Freddie continued to lament.

“Oh, fuck this dramatic shit. I’m going out for a cig..” Roger muttered, a hint of amusement in his voice. John decided to join him, he needed a smoke anyway.

As they stood in the alleyway outside the studio, smoking silently, Deaky found his hands to be rather shaky. But why? It wasn’t the least bit chilly out, and he was completely relaxed. He mother was dead and his sister wanted money and he was fine.  _ So why were his hands shaking? _

When the two of them flicked their butts to the ground, they walked inside to Freddie calmly sipping some iced tea, almost like the dramatic outburst never happened.

“Sorry about that, dears! Anyways, this actually reminds me of something important. The email with the concert info on it, does anyone have it? Reid said that the info was emailed to one of us…”

“I got it. I’ll just forward it to everyone right now.” John said. He remembered getting that email a couple of days ago, and was meaning to send it to the rest of the band anyway.

“That would be appreciated.” Brian smiled.

So John went on his phone, clicking the forwarding button without much thought, and set the phone down. The rest of them got the notification immediately, and picked up their phones, checking their inboxes.

But the looks on their faces..morphed into  _ horror _ and  _ sympathy _ instead.

“ _ Oh-- _ ” Brian stuttered.

“-Oh my  _ god _ \--” Roger placed a hand over his mouth.

“-John...I-I’m so  _ sorry _ ,” Freddie said, sympathy leaking out of his voice. They all looked completely shocked. All eyes were on John.

_ What on earth are they talking about? Unless... _ He checked the email that he sent them.

“Oh,” he said simply, “I sent the wrong email. Sorry, here’s the right one.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John can feel it. He can feel his box break from all the weight he's put on it. He can feel his Deaky logic failing. But that's okay. Because he was Disco Deaky. He would be fine. He was always fine. 
> 
> Except when he wasn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY SWEET BABY LORD JESUS! I'm SO sorry that took so long! In between mid-terms and vacations, I haven't had a chance to write this! I hope all of you haven't abandoned this story because I took so long, I already feel terrible as it is! 
> 
> Once again I HAVE NO CLUE WHAT JOHN DEACON'S FAMILY LIFE WAS LIKE, THIS IS ALL PURELY FICTIONAL, SO PLEASE DO NOT ASSUME HE HAD A SHITTY FAMILY, I APPRECIATE IT Y'ALL!

“Oh,” he simply said, “I sent the wrong email. Sorry, here’s the right one.”

 

Truthfully, they all looked shocked. Kind of confused, but mostly sad. Sympathetic. John internally sighed. Of course they saw  _ that _ email out of every email they could have seen. But that’s alright. It’s not a big deal. It doesn’t really matter. 

 

“John...you--you  _ do _ know which email you sent to us, right?” Brian asked cautiously. John nodded.

 

“Uh huh.”

 

“Well…” Roger started quietly, “how long have you known?”

 

John shrugged, “Sometime this morning.”

 

Freddie made a sound that sounded like a choked, _ “oh”, _ and stood up slowly, walking over to the bassist. 

 

“Christ, John...if we had known...if you had just  _ called _ us or told us, we wouldn’t have asked you come and play today. Or for the entire fucking  _ week. _ I’m so sorry, Deaky..” Brian said sympathetically. Roger patted him on the back comfortingly. 

 

John was confused. 

 

“Why wouldn’t I come in to the studio?”

 

“Well...wouldn’t you like to spend time with your family? Or sister? I-I didn’t even  _ know _ you had any siblings..” Roger said quietly. 

 

John laughed, despite the confused looks of the rest of the band. “Wh-why would I talk to my  _ sister? _ We haven’t spoken in 6 years, why would I, today of all days?”

 

Now they were  _ really  _  confused. Freddie’s eyes flickered with worry.

 

“Are you...are you... _ okay _ ?” Freddie asked cautiously, inching forward a little bit.  _ Okay? _ Of course he was. His mother was dead and his father was gone and his family was broken and he had absolutely no one.  _ No one.  _ But of course he was fine. Why would Freddie even  _ ask _ that kind of question?

 

“Of...course? Why wouldn’t I be?”

 

Freddie’s expression immediately went from sympathy to concern. Frowning, he sat right next to John, turning his shoulders so they were eye to eye. 

 

“John...your mother really is..”

 

“Dead.” John replied, shrugging. 

 

“And you feel…?”

 

John shrugged again. “Normal. It’s a pretty normal day, after all.” 

 

“John-” Brian started, but Freddie cut him off. 

 

“Darling, I think we’re going to drive you home.” 

 

Deaky was getting agitated. Why were they making such a big deal out of things?

 

“Why? We came here to  _ play _ , right?” Deaky put down his phone and picked up his bass, “I have to go in an hour. We should practice while we can.”

 

“Deaky, I think we should cut practice short. You need to go home.” Brian argued. John was getting pissed off. His mother was dead, his father was gone, and his family was never really a family in the first place. But it was fine. He didn’t care. 

 

“We’re playing, Brian. So just shut the fuck up and  _ play _ !” he snapped. 

 

_ Whoa. _ He never got angry. 

 

He never really was an angry person. Even as his mother cried for days on end, waiting by the door for his father to come home. Even as she slowly cut herself off from her children, there, but also never  _ really _ there. Even as his sister wept, begging her mother to  _ hold _ her, but getting a slap on the wrist and a snap from his mother in return. Even as he longed for love from  _ someone _ , but never getting anything. Even as he left for college, leaving his sister, being a disappointment to his mother. Even as he slowly learned to stop looking for love. To stop crying. To stop feeling. 

 

No, he never got angry. So why does he feel so irritated? Why does he feel so.. _ foreign _ to everything he’s known? He felt his breath quicken--he tried to control it but he found that he no longer could control over anything that was happening to him. He felt his hands start to shake vigorously. 

 

He might be able to put his emotions into a box, but he can’t put his physical reactions into one. The box was imaginary, after all. 

 

He wished it wasn’t.

 

Everyone had been silent until now, and with the introduction to his soon-to-be breakdown, Freddie knew it was time to intervene. The rest of the band got the message. 

 

“John--” Freddie began, stepping forward. Roger and Brian reached over and grabbed their jackets and began packing everything up. 

 

“W-what are you doing?” John asked quietly, watching as the studio was slowly being packed up. 

 

“We’re taking you to my house, darling. I don’t think you should be alone right now. Besides, we’ve played for long enough.”

 

John was confused. Why were they packing up? Why were they going to Fred’s? His mother was--

 

“Come on. This way, Deaky.”  Freddie’s gentle voice snapped John out of his thoughts, and he blinked to find himself by the door, the studio all packed up with the lights off.  _ How long have I been lost in thought for? _ Freddie gently put an arm around his shoulder, and John felt a longing to melt into the touch. 

 

But he couldn’t. So he didn’t. 

 

***********************

John felt like an empty husk. He didn’t know  _ why _ he felt so empty. Maybe he always was. Maybe because his emotions were locked in a box. He had no idea. 

 

All four of them were silent getting into the van. They let him have shotgun, and Roger, of course, drove. Freddie and Brian got in the back. 

 

They took off down the street, and John felt his world become less and less clear as they sped past the studio. 

 

“Your place is just off the highway, right?” Roger asked Freddie, the first one to speak after a while. 

 

“Yep. Past all those cute little farms.” Freddie responded warmly. Roger nodded in understanding. 

 

“Alright, it’ll be easier to take the backroads.”

 

There was more and more smalltalk and banter between them, and John almost felt irritated.  _ Almost _ . He thought back to the studio. How he should have checked before sending that damn email. He thought back to Brian’s new song. He thought back to--

 

_ He thought back to how his mother used to hold him. It was almost a foreign memory, but sometimes, if he thought hard enough, he could remember his early days when his mother would hug him, love him, tell him it was going to be okay.  _

 

_ He thought back to when his father walked out the door and never came back. His mother still set up his place at the dinner table, just waiting for him to return. But of course, he left, as did the loving personality of his mother. Instead of “I love you”, it was “stop crying!” or “ bugger off!” _

 

_ He thought back to when she would come home from her 3 jobs and collapse by the door, only to be woken up by him and his sister, asking for food. He thought back to how she would get up, grumble a few things, but she would make them food nonetheless.  _

 

_ He thought back to, even if she called him a disappointment, yelled at him to stop being such a baby, and slapped him whenever he would say something she didn’t like, she still loved him. She still did what she could. She was a lousy mother, and frankly, his entire life, she never gave a damn about him. _

 

_ Did she love him? Did he love her? _

 

*******************

 

John was confused.

 

His mother was dead, his father was gone, and his sister cut herself off...or maybe  _ he _ was the one who cut himself off from her.

 

But his mother was dead and he was going to be fine with it. He only heard criticism, disappointment, and put downs from her growing up, and it never seemed to stop until he left to live on his own. But he missed her. As twisted as it sounded, no matter what she did, he still kind of.. _ missed her.  _ For the first time in a long, long time, he wanted.. _.he wanted his mom. _

 

He felt his eyes get warm, and he grew more confused by the second. Why was he thinking about this again? It’s supposed to be in his box. It’s supposed to be in his box, forgotten, just like everything else. 

 

And then it hit him: 

 

His mother was  _ dead _ . Like, really dead. She wasn’t coming  back. She stopped breathing, her heart stopped, and she was  _ gone _ . And frankly, so was his father. The last fraction of a family he had left had gone, and now, he really  _ did _ have no one. 

 

He felt a small whimper escape him involuntarily that he prayed no one else could hear. He sighed in relief. It was fine.  _ He _ was fine. He just needed to get home, drink a glass of water, and block out every single thought that ever came across his mind; good  _ or _ bad. 

 

He  _ couldn’t _ go to Fred’s. He just needed to be alone. He was always alone when he blocked everything out, or else people would complain how “unresponsive” he was.

 

But now it was all wrong. It was all  _ backfiring _ . He shouldn’t be thinking about anything. But instead, whenever he closed his eyes, all he could see was his mother. When he thought, it always went back to his mother. When he tried to focus on  _ breathing,  _ he couldn’t.

 

It was all flowing through his head at once; everything she’d said to him. Every wonderful thing, every horrible thing. Every time he would cry and everytime he trained himself  _ not _ to cry. It was all there. All in his mind. He was trapped there, and he wanted out. 

 

He wanted out. 

 

_ He wanted out.  _

_ * _

_ * _

_ I want out. _

 

_ Let me out.  _

 

_ Please. _

**

“LET ME OUT!”

 

_ It seemed his boxes were finally opening. A good thing? A bad thing? Well, John couldn’t exactly tell. _

 

**

He heard voices all around him, but he couldn’t tell where he was. It was  _ terrifying. _  He tried to strain himself and focus on where he was, but he couldn’t do anything to move his body. All he could hear, all he could  _ see,  _ was his mother. 

 

The mother that, as much as he wouldn’t like to admit it, he  _ loved _ . He loved her. And he missed her. 

She wouldn’t escape his mind. He begged and screamed and swore for it all to stop  until he felt his voice grow hoarse and palms were cut from his clenched fists. And as he kept thrashing out, painful cries coming from him, he thought he could hear a familiar voice in the mix, one that broke through almost  _ everything. _

 

“Shh shh...dear, come here..it’s alright..”

 

His ears perked up at the sound. He felt a shiver go down his spine. He recognized it but--it couldn’t be--

 

“Mum?”

 

At that question, he opened his eyes, panicking at the new surroundings. He tried to adjust his eyes to the light, but only one thing was on his mind; his mother. She was here. She was okay. It was fine. It was all fine.

 

“I’m sorry, mother!” he cried out as he felt a hand on his forehead, brushing back his flouncy hair.

 

_ But something didn’t seem right. _

 

Her voice was too...sweet. Like honey. Maybe she was like that when he was a very small boy, but not anymore.

 

“Mum?” he repeated again, his hoarse voice speaking softly. When his eyes adjusted to the light, he squinted them and looked around. He searched for his mother among the bright rays of sun, but instead came face to face with--Freddie. He looked around and found himself in Freddie’s driveway, his bandmates out of the car and huddled around him. A great sadness and guilt was blanketed over the singer and it showed.

 

“No, darling..” he said quietly, his eyes glistening sadly, “It’s just me, I’m afraid.”

 

_ No. Of course not. Of course it wouldn’t be her. She’s dead. How stupid of me.  _

 

And John felt his eyes get misty  his head, once filled with cotton now felt like it was being weighed down with a heavy burden of some sort. The burden of a loss. The burden of a death, something you can never get back.

 

His box swung open, flooding his mind, his heart,  _ everything. _

 

*

 

He wanted his mum.

 

*

 

And as his box toppled over rather violently in his head, the shock and bliss of earlier now gone, he felt tears pool in his eyes, years of pent-up emotions and turmoil now being let out at once. And thick, salty tears made their way down his face and dripped off his chin. 

 

His whole body shook with emotion, causing tears to drip onto his pants. He closed his eyes rather painfully, a sharp spear-like feeling piercing his entire body. 

 

_ It all seemed wrong. Everything felt so unnatural. _

 

“I’m sorry, honey..” he heard Freddie say, the singer’s voice close to breaking, “I’m so,  _ so _ sorry..   
  


And he was absolutely  _ mortified _ because he was crying in front of Freddie and Roger and Brian, and no matter how much his brain scrambled to pick up the pieces and force them back into the back of his mind, he just  _ couldn’t _ do it anymore. 

 

So instead, he gripped the sides of the seat in Roger’s car and felt sob after sob shake him down. He couldn’t control himself, no matter how much he wanted to. Because his mother was dead and his father was gone and his sister was out of the picture and he was sobbing uncontrollably in someone else’s car.

 

“Shit..” he heard Brian say quietly. 

 

“Let’s get him inside, yeah?” Roger said sympathetically, “Bri and I will make some tea?”

 

Freddie nodded and turned back to Deaky as the other two went into the house. He wasn’t exactly calming down, so Freddie slid into shotgun with him, lifting the small man into his lap and letting him cry into his shirt.

 

Just seeing him like this--so lost, so  _ sad _ , so unlike the John he thought he knew was enough to make  _ him _ cry. 

 

_ No. He needs someone more stable than him right now.  _

 

“Dear, we don’t have to go into the house yet, we’ll go in once you’ve calmed down a bit, okay?”Freddie explained softly. 

 

“F-Freddie..I’m sorry…” he gasped between sobs, trying to catch his breath. 

 

“Don’t be sorry.” he replied, frowning, “You’re grieving. You’re  _ feeling _ . Never apologize for that.”

 

Deaky didn’t know why, but he felt himself cry harder. 

 

***************

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, I really didn't mean for this to be so depressing, but death can be a heavy topic. I promise comfort from the boys is coming soon! 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I love all of your heart-warming comments and Kudos, so don't be shy and hit up my inbox! I love hearing your feedback and prompts!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deaky thinks he can lock everything back up again, but it isn't so easy this time. 
> 
>  
> 
> ***  
> AGAIN, PLEASE DO NOT SHOW OR SEND THIS TO THE MEMBERS OF QUEEN, EVERYTHING IN THIS IS PURELY FICTION AND FOR MY ENJOYMENT.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OHHHHHH GODDDD I promised y'all it would get fluffy this chapter, but OF COURSE THERES MORE ANGST BECAUSE IM TERRIBLE AND COULDN'T STOP MYSELF FROM WRITING IT! IT JUST HAPPENED!
> 
> Don't worry, there's fluff at the end. A bit of Dealor if you squint. A little bit of Maycury if you squint.
> 
> I PROMISE ILL GIVE YOU SOME FLUFFY BOYS NEXT CHAPTER!

The rest of the day was surreal. After his meltdown in Roger’s van, Deaky acted like it never happened. With wet eyes, he sat numbly in Freddie’s living room as the boys tried coaxing him with cups of tea and honey, bowls of soup, comfort food, water, warm milk, cocoa-- _ anything  _ to get him to talk. But nothing worked.

 

But with a slight sniffle, the younger man kept repeating the phrase, “I’m fine.” 

 

_ I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine.  _

 

Freddie would try to pull him into a warm embrace, but the bassist would shy away from any human contact. Roger softened up a bit and ushered the two other boys out of the room and sitting down with him, repeated words like “you’re my best friend, Deaks” and “I know you’re feeling low and that’s okay” and “you know you can tell me anything”, but it was always the same. 

 

“I’m fine.”

 

He blankly stared across the room, absentmindedly waving them off. They all suspected it was just normal, strange, quiet Deaky, but considering the breakdown he had just earlier, they were rather suspicious. Especially since the death of his mother was taking such a twisted and strange toll on him. 

 

The only person who John seemed to tolerate was Brian, who managed to get him to drink half a cup of tea. The guitarist was sitting across from him, reading a book and pondering what to do about this whole ordeal.

 

Roger was trying to get ahold of at least  _ one _ of their friend’s family members to help him through this, they would obviously know him longer and better than the three of them did. He spent the rest of the day by the phone. 

  
  


“Darling, is there anything you need right now?” Freddie asked. There was no response. The singer frowned and tried again.

 

“Don’t feel like you can’t talk to us. We won’t judge. We know that you’re hurting in some way and we can  _ help  _ you. We’re a  _ family.” _

 

The word “family” must have sparked something, because the bassist, clearly more tense than before, stood up abruptly. 

 

“I’m rather tired. I think I’ll go set myself up in one of your guest rooms. Goodnight.” he said quickly and numbly walking up the winding stairs. 

 

Once the bassist reached the top of the stairs, he let out a breath he was unaware that he was holding. 

 

“Family..” he whispered to himself. What the hell even  _ was _ a family? Does he have one? Did he have one in the first place? 

 

He felt a shiver down his spine as his eyes threatened to spill long-held tears. 

 

“Just  _ go _ to bed..” he whispered to himself, “Forget about everything. Everything is fine.”

 

He felt his head hit the pillow, and his sunken eyes gave in to some much needed sleep.

 

***********************************

*

*

_ He was five years old. _

_ * _

_ * _

 

_ He sat in his bedroom, the quietness of their empty home finally getting to him, tears streaming down his face. His sister had disappeared into her bedroom, and he could still hear the muffled cries from the room over. His mother had always liked her the most, but even she had reached her breaking point.  _

 

_ She was still waiting by the door, presumably. Waiting for a man that would never come. He may be young, but he wasn’t dumb. He knew that if he didn’t come back, they would have no money. His mum would have to get a job, and they would have to move in order to afford life without their father.  _

 

_ Good god, she even set his place at the dinner table. Seeing that untouched, vacant spot at the end of the table day after day made him loathe his father even more than he already did. _

 

_ He covered his mouth with his hand, trying hard not to let any sobs get past his room. In quick sniffles, he clutched his pillow, wishing for it all to just go away.  _

 

_ He jumped quickly when he heard the booming footsteps of his mother’s heels coming from down the halls. Being away from her husband for so long has made her cruel, he admitted. But right now, he was too scared to think about what his mother had become.  _

 

_ The knob on his door slowly turned, and he tried desperately to wipe away the remainder of his tears. But he knew it was too late. _

 

_ “John...” was all she said in a light breath. It sounded warmer than usual, a little twinge of sympathy said at the end of his name, and inside he begged, longed for love. Unable to wipe his tears, he sniffled, trying to hide his face from his mother.  _

 

_ “Stop that useless crying at once.” _

 

_ There it was. The cold, hard tone in her voice that he grew to know so well, that he started to recognize more and more after his father left.  _

 

_ “But...mother..” he sniffled. _

 

_ “Not another word from you. Only ladies cry. You were always such a girly boy, and I won’t have it anymore. Any son of mine wouldn’t be caught dead crying his eyes out like the disappointment you are. Just like your father, I say.” _

 

_ He opened his mouth to speak again, but he felt a strong grip on the back of his neck.  _

 

_ “You hear me, boy? Just shut up! Shut up and get over it! Your feelings don’t matter! YOU don’t matter! So stop wasting my precious time, and learn to man up!” _

 

_ He figured that was the day that finally started it all. Soon it wasn’t just crying. Whenever he would get angry over something. Whenever he would get jealous. Whenever he was too loud. Whenever he rolled his eyes or talked out of line.  _

 

_ It was everything he did. It was everything he felt.  _

 

_ “Worthless!” _

 

_ “Stupid!” _

 

_ “Loud!” _

 

_ “Ungrateful!” _

 

_ “Girly!” _

 

_ “Crybaby!” _

 

_ “Just--stop feeling! Your feelings don’t matter! They don’t matter! Shut up! SHUT UP!” _

 

_ So he did. He shut up. He shut it out. He learned quick. And no matter what he did, it was never good enough. He just had to work harder. _

 

_ Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up-- _

 

“No. Stop it.  _ Stop _ !” he cried out. He cried out to his mother, begging for her to stop. Longing for love. The love he never got from her. 

 

“ _ You don’t matter!” _

 

He locked it all away in a box. He trained himself not to think about it. He shouldn't be thinking about it. He shouldn’t be thinking about  _ anything _ . 

 

_ “Worthless child!” _

 

_ No. Stop it. Stop talking. Stop yelling. Please, stop it stop it stop it-- _

 

***********

 

“No, no, NO, STOP!”

 

He felt his entire body shake as he cried out for someone to save him. But no one was coming. 

 

*****************

“I wish he would talk to us.” Freddie finally said, sighing deeply and rubbing his temples, “It’s rather unsettling that we can’t get ahold of any of his family members, don’t you think?”

 

Brian looked up from his book. “I’m worried about it, too. And it's not like John to be like this. He’s all over the place right now, I don’t really know what to expect. But I guess people act differently when they lose someone close to them.”

 

Freddie looked at the ground and Brian set down his book when the singer didn’t respond. 

 

“Right?”

 

Freddie frowned, still not meeting the guitarists gaze. 

 

Brian blinked in surprise, “I mean, he must have been close to her, right? Otherwise he wouldn’t have been sad about it?”

 

Freddie bit his lip and looked up. 

 

“I don’t know, Bri. Do you remember him ever mentioning his mum? Like,  _ ever?” _

 

“No, actually, now that I think about it.” Brian replied, feeling unsettlement come over him, “Actually, he’s never talked about  _ any  _  of his family in front of us. Hell, I didn’t even know he had a sister.”

 

Freddie bit his nails, the black nail polish chipping off a bit. 

 

“See, this is why I’m worried that--”

 

“WELL FUCK YOU TOO THEN. GOODNIGHT!” Freddie was interrupted as the angry voice of their drummer and the loud echoing of the telephone being slammed into its holder was heard from the hallway. 

 

“Roger?” Brian asked inquisitively, walking over to the front hall. 

 

“You’re going to wake up Deaky!” Freddie hissed, slinking over to where Roger was brooding in the shadow of the front hall, “what’s got  _ you _ so riled up?”

 

“Bloody hell, it’s just John’s family.” Roger scoffed, “He never told me they’re all a bunch of righteous assholes! Refused to talk to me about _anything!_ They didn’t want anything to do with him! Even his own bloody sister wouldn’t talk! Its like none of them even _care_ that someone in their family just died. Just bloody insulting..”

 

“What did they say?” Brian asked, “Like, about Deaky?”

 

“Oh, well his sister said some things that were fucking awful..but I managed to get a few words out of one of his aunts. She said--”

 

_ Thump. _

 

They all turned their heads as a loud thump resonated from upstairs echoed down Freddie’s staircase. 

 

“Maybe we should go check on him?”

 

A louder  _ thump _ , sounding like something had been knocked over in the process, echoed down the stairs. They were about to turn back to Roger, when they heard a harsh cry accompany the third  _ thump. _

 

“Agreed.” Freddie said quickly, and the three of them made their way to the guest room that John had presumably set himself up in. Brian knocked softly on the dark oak door, turning the knob ever so slightly. 

 

“Deaky?” the guitarist whispered, “Everything alright?”

 

A harsh cry in response left them with no better judgement than to open the door, so Brian turned the knob fully to find their bassist in a ball on the ground, tears pouring out of his eyes at a constant. 

 

“Jesus! John, are you alright!?” Freddie asked loudly stepping forward and lifting trying to lift the man up from the ground.

 

But John wasn’t listening. He was still in his own head. He could still hear the taunting words his mother would shout at him to just  _ shut up _ -

 

“No!” he cried, “Stop it!”

 

“What is it?” Roger asked quickly, “Did you hurt yourself?”

 

John let out a whimper, mumbling apologies and placing his hands over his ears, hunching over quite fearfully. Freddie frowned.

 

“Deaky..” the singer said calmly, reaching a hand over and placing it on his shoulder. 

 

“D-don’t!” John flinched, and Freddie drew his hand back, “I-I promise I’ll stop! Just--don’t!”

 

“Is he okay?” Brian asked, panic lining his voice.

 

“He’s not looking so good..” Roger replied, inching a bit closer to his friend. 

 

John’s breath became laboured and uneven, and he gripped the sides of his head like his life depended on it. 

 

“Freddie….do something…..” Roger’s voice grew more and more nervous and John looked like he was at the peak of another breakdown, and Freddie swore under his breath.

 

“Hey, hey, John...it’s okay..do you know where you are?”

 

All was silent, except for the man’s breathing.

 

“He’s not responding. Fred, he’s not answering.” Roger said nervously, but Freddie gave him a comforting look. It was fairly common for some people to not respond while having a panic attack. Which, he was pretty sure John was having one. Or something related to one, at least. 

 

“Can you hear me, John?”

 

They waited for a moment, before it sounded like he could barely breathe, his entire body shaking like a leaf, and Freddie started to panic. 

 

“John? John!” Freddie said louder and louder, until John gasped loudly, throwing himself back, his body hitting the side of the bed with a forceful  _ thump.  _ Almost hyperventilating, John opened his eyes and shakily turned his head to the singer. 

 

“F-Freddie?”

 

Freddie sighed in relief, his head swaying forward and Roger exhaled a long breath that he didn’t know he was holding. Brian slumped forward in relief. 

 

“Can I touch you?” Freddie asked. John nodded, still breathing heavily, and Freddie put a hand on the man’s shoulder, comforting the bassist. 

 

“Sorry..” he breathed heavily, “shut...down...easily...not...good at talking…”

 

“It's alright, dear.”

 

“Are  _ you _ alright?” Roger asked softly. He was about to nod his head on instinct, but hesitated.  _ No. No, he wasn’t.  _

 

“T-there’s something wrong with me.” he sputtered, “There’s something wrong with me!”

 

Tense air became quiet again as the bassist stuttered, trying to communicate. When he didn’t respond, Brian’s curious brain took the wheel. 

 

“What’s wrong with you?”

 

“Brian!” Freddie hissed, giving him a light, angry push. But the bassist seemed unfazed by Brian’s rudeness. 

 

“There’s something wrong with me! B-because I can’t feel anything. But I also feel everything. And I can hear everything in my head that I tried so hard to block out and I--I can’t function!” he sobbed. 

 

All was silent. He wasn’t really making any sense, they all decided, but at least he was talking again. 

 

“Sorry..” he finally breathed, leaning into them, trying to control his breathing. 

 

“Don’t apologize..” Freddie murmured, playing with a piece of the carpet on the floor. They were all sitting in that small little guest room, their knees up to their chins in the dark space, only lit by the little crack of light coming from the open door of the hallway.

 

They all wanted the man to explain what was going on in his head, but they brushed it off until later, when Deaky was able to actually  _ talk _ without breaking out into a frenzy.

 

“Aw, god…” Roger breathed sympathetically, crawling over and wrapping his arms around the man. John flinched, prepared to push him away, like he did with everything. But something about Roger, the way his skin was so warm, his arms were so welcoming, he silenced himself, breathing in the man’s familiar scent deeply.

 

It was nice.  _ So _ ,  _ so _ nice. He can’t even remember the last time he hugged someone. Even if he got that kind of neglect from his family, he never really had many girlfriends, and it never really got that intimate. Or,  _ he _ never let it get that intimate. 

 

He shuddered shakily, leaning further into Roger’s embrace. 

 

“This..” he whispered, “This is nice…”

 

Roger smiled sadly, wrapping a nearby blanket around his broken friend. Brian and Freddie exchanged glances, before inching over, setting down their anxieties for the moment, and snuggling up to John, their limbs intertwined. 

 

John, meanwhile, felt like he was in some twisted heaven. It felt euphoric to be touched, to be  _ loved,  _ but in another way, he felt conflicted. These three people made him feel  _ so warm _ inside, more than his own family could give him. Was it really fair to make them love him?

 

“Don’t even think about it.” Freddie murmured as Deaky opened his mouth to protest. Something about Freddie  _ always _ knowing what he was going to do next was frightening yet comforting in some way.

 

“We’re not going anywhere.” Brian added, squeezing him tighter. 

 

“O-okay..” he croaked, closing his eyes and letting the slightest bit of comfort override his body. He felt *most* of his worry melt away, letting his breath regulate itself. He felt alright. 

  
  


Until he didn’t. 

  
  


His eyes flew open when he found his mind racing back to all of his problems. His mother was dead, his father was gone, and his sister...well, he didn’t even know if he considered her his sister. 

 

But one bigger thing came to mind despite all of this, something so built into him that it was like muscle memory, instinct. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


_ I shouldn’t be doing this.  _

 

He needed to get off of them. He needed out of whatever he got himself into. Feeling his heart race, he tried to pry himself away from his bandmates with jerky movements. 

 

“Darling..” Freddie said, almost scoldingly, but the bassist wasn’t having it. He felt so--so  _ freaked out _ that he could barely register what was in front of him. 

 

“Just--STOP! Get  _ off _ of me!” he yelled alarmingly, “I shouldn’t be doing this!”

 

“Shouldn’t be doing...what?” Roger asked, frowning in confusion. 

 

John anxiously ran his hands through his hair, repeatedly blowing out unsteady breaths, “Just--this! All of this! I shouldn’t be sitting here, talking about--about-- _ things!  _ I shouldn’t be hugging people! I shouldn’t be  _ crying _ for fucks sake! It should all be pushed away and locked up in my bo--”

 

He stopped himself before he could finish, not realizing that he was panting for breath. Feeling light-headed, he slowly melted back into the couch, holding his head in his hands. Freddie, meanwhile, looked like a mixture between angry and sympathetic. 

 

“Locked in your... _ what _ ?” he asked slowly. John flinched, before exhaling shakily.

 

“My box.” 

 

“Excuse me?” Freddie did not sound happy. 

 

“Deaky Logic…” John finally said quietly, feeling his voice and breath give way. He didn’t feel like explaining anything. Especially not to an angry looking Freddie. 

 

“What are you talking about?” Brian asked cautiously as Freddie clenched his fists. John took a deep breath before continuing quietly. 

 

“I-I have a box. Where I put... _ unnecessary _ things. But its not…” he paused, struggling to find the words, “It’s not...physical...its more of a mind thing, where I put stuff I don’t need.”

 

“Wait...is this why you’re so devoid of emotion constantly?” Roger queried. Freddie shot him a glare. 

 

“Well..I guess you could say that.” John replied, shrugging meekly. Brian’s frown deepened, and Freddie remained silent. 

 

“ What do you... _ put _ in it?” Brian asked curiously, trying his best not to set off the young man again. John thought for a moment. What was he supposed to say? The parental neglect he received? Childhood abandonment? Abuse? The fact that his mother was dead, his father was gone and his family was nothing but a plethora of early-childhood photos?

 

“I…” 

 

Recollecting everything he’d kept from himself had his head spinning. He thought he could feel a headache coming as he tried to shake it all out of his head. But it all just loomed over his head like a stormcloud. 

 

“I..shouldn’t be doing this..” he repeated tiredly. 

 

Freddie was ready to open his mouth in protest, before Roger stepped in front of him, putting an arm out to settle the singer’s protests. 

 

“Listen, it’s been a long day. Fred, go to bed. You’re just getting angry over unnecessary things. Brian,  _ please _ make sure he’s actually listening to me. I’ll get Deaky some tea and make sure  _ he  _ gets to bed as well. Understand?”

 

“On it.” Brian swiftly replied, standing up and outstretching a hand for Freddie to grasp onto.

 

“But--” the singer tried to protest, but Roger shushed him with a hand. 

 

“I know where everything is in your house. It’s fine, Fred.” the drummer replied, adding on a threatening, “I  _ mean _ it.” 

 

Freddie sighed, defeated. “Fine.”

 

“Thank you.” Roger smiled.

 

**********************

Brian dragged Freddie into the master bedroom, locking the door and slipping the key in his pocket. The singer tried with no avail to escape the large room.

 

“Wait!” Freddie announced, “I have to pee!”

 

“Nice try, Fred. There’s a bathroom in here.” Brian said, rolling his eyes. Freddie growled impatiently. 

 

“Bri! Just let me out! Why can’t we be there for Deaky? It’s not fair! Roger has no more right than us to be there for him!”

 

Brian pinched the bridge of his nose and held his head back, sighing deeply. 

 

“Just let Roger do his thing. He can be very caring when he has to be.”

 

“Psh, how would  _ you _ know?” Freddie asked absentmindedly, trying to push Brian’s buttons. When there was silence, Freddie looked up that the curly-haired man.

 

“What, have I finally annoyed you too much?”

 

Brian lifted his head up. 

 

“He was there when my depression was at the lowest it ever was.”

 

Freddie sucked in a breath.

 

“It was before smile. Before Tim. I was so empty, I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t even get out of bed. I couldn’t eat. Roger came to my place every day. He got me dressed, he fucking  _ fed _ me. All to keep me alive. I was so numb, I thought it was the new normal. That it would never end. But it did. And I was okay. Because of him. I one can tell you with one hundred percent confidence that no one--not even  _ you _ could have been able to save me. If he wasn’t with me back then, I wouldn’t be alive.”

 

Freddie sighed deeply. “Brian--”

 

“Don’t act all apologetic. It was over ten years ago. But my point is that Roger can probably help him more than we can right now.”

 

Freddie sighed, agonizingly, “I just want to know why he’s so out of it. I swear, all that box shit he was telling us, he was  _ so close _ to telling us what it meant. Why can’t I just leave and find out? Then I’ll come right back and then we can comfort him and--”

 

“Do you ever think that you’re making absolutely everything  _ worse,  _ Freddie?” Brian snapped, “The only thing you’re doing is being obnoxious.”

 

The guitarist didn’t look back at the singer’s expression, but he guessed what it must have looked like based on the slight sniffle he heard from behind him. 

 

“I-I know..” Freddie’s voice wavered, “But I don’t know how to help him--I’ve never  _ not _ been able to help someone before..”

 

Brian finally turned around.

 

“Fred, you’re crying.” he stated, more for himself. Freddie didn’t just  _ cry _ . Not without reason. 

 

“Jesus Christ. I’m sorry. I’m being such a fucking prick, aren’t I?” the singer whimpered, “I really am the worst..”

 

Brian sat down next to the man at the foot of the bed, the mattress dipping as the slender man sat down next to him. 

 

“I’m sorry about what I said. You’re not ‘making everything worse’. I’m just worried, too. But let’s just try to sleep and see how we all feel in the morning.”

 

Freddie nodded, and wrapped his arms around the guitarist, the two of them falling slowly backwards into the bed. 

 

When Freddie’s breath slowed, Brian wrapped the thick duvet around the both of them, watching as Freddie melted into the warmth. 

 

“Goodnight, Freddie.” Brian murmured. 

 

“You’re all my family..”Freddie mumbled, burying himself further under the covers. 

 

Brian didn’t say it out loud, but they both knew that he agreed.

 

*************************

 

The two of them sat there for what felt like a million years, when they finally heard the door to Freddie’s room slam shut. 

 

“Listen, I--” John turned to Roger, a panicked expression on his face, but Roger stopped him. 

 

“It’s okay,” the drummer insisted, “You don’t really seem like you’re in the mood to talk. Much to Freddie and Brian’s insistence.”

 

The bassist nodded his head shakily, bringing his knees up to his head. “I’m not really good at talking about this kind of stuff...Freddie and Brian are--”

 

Roger chuckled. 

 

“Yeah, I get it. Freddie’s good for physical comfort. Like when you have a whole bunch of things on your mind that you need someone to hug out of you. Brian’s good for telling you how it is. He’s good at telling you that it’s alright. But you don’t need that right now, do you?” 

 

John thought about it for a moment. “No...I guess I don’t…”

 

“When you don’t need those things, it just overwhelms you and makes you feel worse.” Roger explained, “Like, I love Freddie. A lot. But he’s the kind of person who  _ needs _ to know everything. And that’s not always a good thing.”

 

“You’ve got that spot on…” John mumbled tiredly, “Heh, you seem to be an expert on this, don’t you?”

 

Roger’s cheeks tinted pink, giving the man a half-smile. 

 

“Well...when I was a complete mess when we were going to Japan...it just felt like those two were too much...but you seemed to know what to do..so I thought I’d do the same.” the drummer explained, “B-but if it isn’t doing anything, I can just--”

 

John stopped him mid-sentence, grasping onto his shirt as he flusteredly tried to get up, giving him a slight smile. 

 

“No. It’s alright. I feel a bit better. Thank you.”

 

The two sat there for a few moments more, before deciding to get up and find something to drink. 

 

Carefully tip-toeing as to not alarm Freddie or Brian, the two of them made their way to Freddie’s large, open kitchen, and fished out two bags of tea from one of his cupboards. 

 

They silently sipped their warm drinks, staring at the moon from the back slide door next to Freddie’s dining room table. In the crescent moonlight, Roger could make out the man smiling contently at the stars littering the sky. From the shadows, he could see the way his eyes and nose crease together, staring at the moon with such contentedness. 

 

It's been awhile since he’s seen that side of Deaky. But he’s glad its back, despite everything that’s happened to him today. 

 

He desperately wants to tell him,  _ I spoke with your family on the phone. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry that they’re terrible people. I’m so sorry that your mother was the way she was. I’m so sorry that you and your sister don’t talk. _

 

But he wants he wants to say the most:

 

_ I’m so sorry you could never talk to us about it.  _

 

But he doesn’t. Otherwise, he would be like everyone else. 

 

He contemplates that everyone thinks of Deaky as the peace-keeper of the group. The mom friend. The only actual adult in the group, despite being the youngest. And  _ god,  _ he was still just a kid to them, wasn’t he? He seems so mature, so soft-spoken, and despite whatever happened to him that made him the way that he currently is, he never told anyone. 

 

Maybe he didn’t feel like he could. 

 

“Roger.” 

 

The drummer was interrupted from his late-night thoughts by the bassist himself. 

 

“Yeah, Deaks?” he said hoarsely. 

 

“Thanks. Really. Thank you.” 

 

Roger shrugged. 

 

“You helped me through my shit. Don’t think I won’t do the same. Same goes for Bri and Fred, we all love you.”

 

Roger was so entranced in the beautiful night and the fogginess of his own mind that he somehow missed John’s breathy answer that slipped quietly out of his mouth. 

 

“That’s what I’m scared of.”

 

****************

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. I made poor Deaky suffer more. I'm sorry! 
> 
> I hope you're enjoying this story so far! Stayed tuned for the next chapter, the morning after everything that's happened!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John heals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone, I am a bit sad to say that this is the last chapter of "At The Rainbow's End". Thank you all for sticking with me during these EXTREMELY slow chapter releases. 
> 
> I'm up for writing prompts in this Universe, however. This story takes place in the same Universe as my other story, "Aviophobia", after said story. If you want anything like this before/after the fact of these two fics, comment an idea or a prompt.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this final chapter. I didn't really know what this was going to morph into, but I think it turned out alright.

*************

John’s mother was dead, his father was gone, him and his sister weren’t on speaking terms, and he just slept for god knows how long. And when he woke up from his long slumber, he--

 

He actually felt okay. Sure, he didn’t feel great, especially after everything that had happened last night, but he didn’t feel the inner turmoil from yesterday that had been taking his body captive. It felt like all (well, most) of his tears had been cried away, years of it being washed down his cheeks and evaporated into the air, never to be seen by the naked eye again. 

 

He yawned softly and rubbed at his eyes, feeling the dried tear tracks from the night before. 

 

_ Jesus, what happened?  _

 

He could barely remember the previous night’s events, just a blurred and distorted memory filling his head. He was _crying?_ _Hugging someone?_ What was he doing at Freddie’s?

 

Snapshots of the previous days came and went, but he eventually remembered the bland email he received from his sister, riding to Freddie’s in a sort of shocked daze, and sipping tea with Roger in the peaceful night. Other than that, it was all a panicked blur in between.

 

He blinked tiredly a couple times, and groaned, getting out of the warmth of the guest bedroom blankets. He supposed he could sleep a little longer if he really wanted to, the others would certainly let him after what had happened last night. But he knew that he needed to get up and confront it all at some point. Hiding in his room would only make him more nervous. 

 

Quietly opening the door, he caught a whiff of his current state, and wrinkled his nose.  _ Jesus, I smell like sweat, tears, and spilt tea. _

 

“Right, so I guess a shower is in order before I go downstairs..” he mumbled to himself, tip-toeing out of the room. After glancing around the long hallway, he spotted a door that had some cheesy french quote on it, and a sign with a picture of a bath. 

 

“Freddie..” he chuckled to himself, looking both ways cautiously and bolting it to the loo, shutting and locking it quickly, sighing with relief. As much as he wanted to, he didn’t feel like confronting anyone just yet. Not until he cleaned himself up a bit. 

 

Running the water, he stepped into the shower and sighed with contentment, the hot water hitting his back washing away all previous tension. As he rubbed shampoo into his hair, he took this moment to think. 

 

_ So mum is really gone, then? _

 

He laughed bitterly. He honestly didn’t know how to react. Yes, he loved her. But he loved her because she was his mother, because she raised him. As a person, as a  _ friend,  _ she did nothing but break him down and rebuild him as something he never wanted to be. 

 

Quiet, emotionless,  _ perfect _ . Perfect was such a broken word. It was all his mother wanted for him, to shut up and be perfect. He supposed that no one ever taught him that he could never be it.

 

He thought that he escaped all of that, the toxicity of his family, the pressure, the looming voice of his mother, when he moved out and away from it all. But he was just telling himself lies. He got out, but the baggage he kept hidden in the back of his mind always remained. 

 

It was his box. 

 

He felt tears of--he didn’t even know what kind of feeling--drip down his face shamelessly. She was like a _prison._ _It all was._ And when she passed, it was like he was free from it all. But he still couldn’t help but miss her. And feel guilty for these feelings of freedom he felt when he knew that she could never do anything to him again.

 

Maybe he wasn’t okay as he thought he was. 

 

Instead of holding it back, he felt no need to anymore.  _ Could anything else really happen if he did?  _ So he let himself sob, feeling tears of resentment, guilt, relief, exhaustion, flow out of him and be washed off of him and down the drain with everything else. 

 

Scrubbing Freddie’s sweet-smelling soaps into him and letting the hot water splash on his tear-stained eyes was...almost therapeutic. He felt nice. Nicer than he had felt in awhile. A sigh of contentment escaped him as tension left his shoulders.

 

After the steamy shower, the bassist looked at himself in the mirror, at the long hair flowing down to his shoulders. He didn’t like it. It just reminded him of what he didn’t want to be. 

 

But instead of crying or putting the thought into his box, which--come to think of it--felt like it was getting smaller and smaller by the minute, he laughed quietly to himself and grabbed part of his hair with his calloused hands. 

 

“Guess I’m going to have to do something about that, then.”

 

He wasn’t surprised to find a pair of scissors in one of Freddie’s bathroom drawers. He thought for a moment that  _ maybe  _ this wasn’t the best idea, but he quickly shrugged it off, and brought the scissors close to his shoulders, hovering right in front of his hair. 

 

_ *snip* _

  
  


**********************

“I hear the shower running, my dears.” Freddie commented, ”It’s time to face the music.”

 

“Well, it's about time he’s gotten up. Poor bloke must’ve been totally exhausted.” Brian replied, putting his book down and joining Roger on the living room couch.

 

“Not tired. Just sad, I think. More confused, actually.” Roger explained, going quiet for a moment before saying, “Do you think he’s still...you know...denying the whole thing? What was it you called it, Brian?”

 

“I just think he was in shock. Death can do that to you, especially under his circumstances.”

 

“The stuff he was mentioning last night, the stuff about his box or whatever. Do you think that was the shock talking?” Roger was biting his nails, “I mean, I spoke with his family members, and they’re all just horrid people. Maybe they made him--”

 

“--Maybe they made him this way?” Freddie guessed, interrupting Roger, “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see. Maybe try not to smother him.”

 

“Pshh, says  _ you _ .”

 

“Fair enough, dear.”

 

After what seemed like ages, they finally heard quiet footsteps head coming down, the three of them eagerly awaiting him. 

 

“Hullo.” the bassist said timidly, walking slowly into the living room. Freddie was the first to say something.

 

“D-Deaky! Did you--cut your hair?” he asked loudly, bounding up quickly and running his hands through it, his eyes widened in disbelief. 

 

“I--yes, I suppose I did.” John laughed, “But maybe it wasn’t the best idea, afterall...” 

 

“N--NO, darling!  it looks great! Amazing, actually! I didn’t even know you could cut your own hair!” Freddie commented, taking him gently by the hand and guiding him further into the living room. 

 

“Yes, it does look nice on you.” Brian commented, smiling warmly.

 

“Yeah, why don’t I get the scissors out and we give Brian an entirely new hairdo!” Roger snickered. Brian threw a nearby pillow at him, hitting him in the face and making John chuckle, sitting down across from them and next to Freddie. 

 

“How did you sleep darling? Considering everything that’s happened last night, I would be exhausted, too!” Freddie asked, and John frowned.

 

What  _ had _ happened last night? He could barely remember what had happened still, except for a few little snippets of tea, tears, and hugs. They all sat in comfortable silence for a moment, as he closed his eyes and tried to recall the recent events. 

 

And like a tidal wave, it hit him.

 

He remembered it all, and he felt a wave of shame hit him like a ton of bricks.  _ They saw everything. Christ, what have I done? What have I told them? They must think I’m some unstable freak with the worst family issues on earth and they’re going to get tired of me and kick me out of the-- _

 

“John?” he snapped himself out of his thoughts as he heard Brian’s voice. He blinked, and saw the three of them staring at him concerningly.  _ I have to say something. _

 

“Uhm--listen. About yesterday. I’m sorry you had to see all of that. I think it was the stress of the new album and I wasn’t really coping with everything right and 

I kept telling myself that I was okay and I really don’t think I was alright and--” 

 

They stared at him intently, waiting for him to finish. Roger gave him a look like ‘take your time’. He could almost hear Roger’s voice in his head.  _ I have to say it. I have to say it out loud. If I can’t do that, then I’m completely hopeless. _

 

“My--” he stopped himself, feeling his throat choke up. 

 

“Don’t rush yourself. It’s alright.” Brian said quietly. He could feel Freddie’s hand on his back.

 

“My mother...” he gulped, forming the words slowly in his mouth, “My mother...is dead.”

 

**

John’s mother was dead. He didn’t think he could cry anymore than he already has, he thought that there were no tears left. 

 

But there were. There were because he was crying again. He was crying again, and everything around him felt fake, everything but the warmth emanating from Freddie, and the comforting hands on his back that he knew were Brian and Roger’s.

 

He breathed deeply through the tears, and leaned into Freddie. 

 

“You said it. You said it, my dear. I’m so proud.”

 

He could feel his face and cheeks getting wetter and wetter. 

_ I said it. I said it. I said it. _

 

“I--I didn’t think it would hurt so much saying it out loud-” he wavered, his voice coming out in a watery laugh. 

 

“It’s okay to feel sad.” Freddie said gently. 

 

John felt his shoulders start to shake. “But--but for me it’s different. She didn’t love me. She only made me feel terrible about myself--but it still hurts that she’s  _ gone- _ ”

 

He stopped himself, letting himself fall shakily into Freddie’s arms. He could hear the man’s rapidfire heartbeat, but his hands were gliding slowly through his newly cut hair. If he seemed nervous, Freddie was good at hiding it.

 

“John..” Freddie said quietly, “I know that you’re feeling hurt right now, but it will make you feel  _ so much better _ if you tell us about it.” 

 

John sat up and attempted to dry his eyes, laughing somberly.  _ God, I was doing so good earlier. I felt okay this morning. I felt alive. I was fine. But now-- _

 

“Where do I start?”

 

He said it so abruptly that Roger blinked in surprise.

 

“Anywhere. Tell us about your childhood. Your ‘box’. Your parents, your sister, your worries, your feelings, your state of mind,  _ anything. _ ” Brian said, inching closer, “We’ll listen.” 

 

He breathed deeply in and out.  _ They’ll listen they’ll listen they’ll listen they’ll listen they’ll-- _

 

*

 

And so he told them everything. And he laughed and cried and yelled in anger and smiled fondly and he  _ told them everything. _

 

And they sipped tea and didn’t leave from Freddie’s home for the next few days. And after a few more days, Freddie called their manager and they went back into the studio and recorded an album.

 

And he was okay. Because he was Disco Deaky. Far from perfect. It might have taken him an awful long time to realize it that he wasn’t perfect, but as soon as he did, he felt the chains he had to bear on his shoulders and in his heart for most of his life being unlocked and unshackled.

 

He was loved. He was allowed to feel. He was allowed to express himself. He just needed a bit of help realizing it.

 

And his box?  _ Gone.  _

 

*

 

You see, Deaky logic always worked. 

But he sure was thankful that for once, it didn’t.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that was it. The end.
> 
>  
> 
> Well, the end of this fic, of course. If you want anything in this Universe, send a prompt or an idea and I'll consider it! 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with my for this entire work, my dears!! <3<3<3<3

**Author's Note:**

> uh oh...what's gonna happen to poor Deaky now that his secret is out? Find out soon enough!
> 
> Again, not my best work, but I will most likely continue this!
> 
> If you have any prompts or Queen members you want me to write about next, inbox me darlings!!


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